


Stay the Night

by badlifechoices



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Movie, brujay but can be seen as platonic, i guess, spoilers for batman vs superman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices/pseuds/badlifechoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You kept it.” The voice tears through the silence of the cave and washes over him like a wave of nostalgia. Bruce doesn’t have to turn around to know who the intruder is now, he will always recognise that voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay the Night

He feels drained when he returns from the funeral. The dark suit feels wrong on his skin, like it’s taunting him, reminding him that the Bruce Wayne he shows the world is so much less _him_ than the Batman is. His feet are heavy when he drags himself down the steps to the Batcave, his body still aching and his mind cramped with thoughts. There are so many questions he needs answered, so many loose ends he has to tie up. He has work, he knows, there’s a task he’s cut out for himself when he told Diana that they needed to locate the other meta humans. And yet, when he finds himself surrounded by the artificial light of the cave, he knows that he won’t be able to concentrate on anything.

Two days, only two days have passed since the battle that left both Metropolis and Gotham in ruins. Two days since the world lost their greatest hero and was reminded of the fact that they weren’t as safe as they were led to believe. And this time they can’t blame it on aliens, at least not entirely. The one responsible for all of this is one of them after all, a human. Sometimes Bruce thinks that this is what humanity should fear more than any potential invaders from other worlds: Themselves. There are too many people with twisted minds, too many murderers and psychotics who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals, be it wealth or power or simply destruction.

Something tears him away from his thoughts. His body stiffens instinctively when he senses that he’s not alone. It can’t be Alfred as the butler is still upstairs. An intruder? But how could someone have found this place? And more importantly: How did they get in here without triggering any of the alarms? Bruce takes the last two steps and finds himself glancing around the room. For some reason he doesn’t feel the familiar paranoid watchfulness invade his mind. Despite the fact that he is certain that he’s not alone, he doesn’t feel threatened. Instead there’s something strangely comfortable about this presence. His shoulders sag, muscles relaxing without his consent and he rubs a hand over his face. He needs rest, he knows, hasn’t found more than a few hours of sleep in days but whenever he closes his eyes he finds himself lost in his nightmares again. The faces that haunt him in his dreams are so vivid, so close. His mind replays the scenes of the battle over and over again and when he forces himself to focus on something else, he’s thrown into older, more familiar nightmares. He sees his mother, his father, feels the cool night air on his face. Gunshots echo in his ears and the clattering of pearls on the pavement.

And then there’s that laughter, the insane cackling of a man who has left behind every last bit of his sanity. There’s another face, young and carefree at first but it always changes. Weariness invades the boyish features, deep lines of worry and pain are suddenly etched into the smooth skin. And then there’s fear. Fear in those deep blue eyes, a mouth opening to scream, calling for help, calling out to _him._ ‘Bruce!’ Over and over again the voice rings in his head, leaves him aching. A hand is held out to him, a desperate plea. He wants to help, wants to reach out but he can never take a hold of that hand. Blood drips from slender fingers, eyes widened and empty, mouth still opened in a silent scream. He wakes up bathed in sweat, disorientated and lost and with a name on his own lips that he repeats as though it’s a prayer.

“Jason.”

“You kept it.” The voice tears through the silence of the cave and washes over him like a wave of nostalgia. Bruce doesn’t have to turn around to know who the intruder is now, he will always recognise that voice. It’s different now from how it was before, less light, less young, less innocent. It’s rough, broken and stained from the years of smoking. It’s soaked in pain, disappointment and anger, it’s as though death itself has left its imprint on every word that falls from the other’s lips. And yet it’s the most comforting sound, Bruce has heard in too long. The tone of that voice alone wraps itself around his shoulders like a blanket. He ignores the sting of bitterness in his chest and finally turns around.

It’s the same curve of his spine, the same rigid shoulders, the same messy hair. He hasn’t changed much since they last met, hasn’t lost the aura of defensiveness that always reminds Bruce how broken he really is. He still seems as though he could disappear any moment and sometimes Bruce wonders if he isn’t another one of his dreams. A hallucination his mind cooked up to fill that hole, Jason’s death has torn into his conscious. He longs to touch him, feel that he is really there but he doesn’t dare to move. Instead he just watches as the boy eyes the uniform he used to wear. He has one hand pressed against the glass of the case. Bruce can’t see his face, can’t see if his eyes are filled with sadness or anger of if there’s anything at all.

“After all this time, you still keep it.” It’s a simple statement and when Jason finally turns around, Bruce finds no question in his features. He realises that the younger man’s face is bare, no mask obscuring the familiar lines.

He nods, slowly. Hesitating, he takes a step towards the other and then stops again. Blue eyes follow his movements, flicker from his face to his hands hanging by his sides and then back up again. “I need it.” Is all Bruce gets out as a reply. He needs it as a reminder, a warning. “I need to remember what happens when I fail. What I can lose…” What he can and will never lose again.

Jason doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he turns around again, gazing at the uniform and an emotion flits across his face that Bruce can’t identify. “You didn’t lose me.” It’s quiet, barely a whisper and yet the words feel like absolution. A forgiveness he’s been longing for and that he’s been given before but never like this, never in the form of words, never this clearly. When Jason looks up again, Bruce finds himself crumbling. There’s a warmth in those eyes that fills him with longing. Emotions wash over him, leave him wide eyed and shaking. He swallows thickly, opens his mouth to say something in return and then closes it again when the words remain frozen on his tongue.

The boy moves, the same grace he’s always possessed still colouring his movements as he approaches. “I saw it on the news. I tried to get here as fast as I could. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Bruce shakes his head. He wants to say that Jason had no obligation to show up in the first place, no matter how much he’s longed to see him again. But he can’t find the words to express it. He’s still loyal, Bruce thinks. Despite their differences, despite their fights, all the resentment and anger left between them, Jason will always return to his side when he needs him most. Even though he’s left his home behind a long time ago, he’d never abandon this city, would never abandon _him._

“You’re here.”

Something like a smile curls around Jason’s lips for a moment. “Yeah, I’m here.”

In an instinct Bruce crosses the last bit of distance between them. Body moving before he can think it through, his arms come up to wrap around the frame of his ex-sidekick. He exhales, only now realising that he’s been holding his breath and when he breathes in again the familiar scent of gunpowder and cigarette smoke and _Jason_ fills his nose. The boy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t struggle or pull back. Instead his arms come up to the older man’s shoulders, fingers combing through short, dark hair. Bruce buries his face in Jason’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth, in the way their bodies fit together

“I could use your help here in Gotham.” He says and he feels Jason shift but he doesn’t get a reply. He didn’t expect one, knows it’s foolish to hope that he will be able to keep the other around. Bruce pulls him closer, his hands splayed over the small of his back. Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep, his tired brain finally deciding to shut down but it feels like Jason is chasing them all away, the worries in his head, the questions nagging at the back of his mind, the frustration and lingering guilt.

Exhaustion washes over him and leaves him boneless. If he’s resting too much of his weight on the other, Jason doesn’t complain about it. “Stay the night.” Bruce asks into the fabric of his hoodie and Jason hums in response. Bruce doesn’t dare to ask him to stay longer, doesn’t ask if he will still be there come morning but for now it’s enough. There’s a strange kind of peace he can find wrapped up in Jason’s warmth, his sleep for the first time in months void of nightmares.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I just watched batman vs superman and I have so many freaking brujay feels so here have a random little thing. I'll definitely write a longer fanfic for this movie but for now I just had to write down some of my thoughts


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